


you be the moon, i'll be the earth (and when we burst, start over)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Last Jedi (2017)
Genre: F/M, Post-TLJ, background Finn/Rose, background finn/poe - Freeform, let the space orphans fuck, reference to OT4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 01:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13179495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: When Rey hugs Finn, all she can think isForce, I don’t want to let you go.Every minute that goes by on the Falcon feels like half a century. She can’t look away from him: his broad shoulders, his smile, the way his eyes go soft and warm when he glances back and realizes she’s looking.They’re crammed in together, sixty-eight Resistance survivors in a ship made to fit fifteen comfortably, and there’s barely a private corner let alone an empty room. Rey swallows down her desire. Curls up under her cloak and tries to rest.





	you be the moon, i'll be the earth (and when we burst, start over)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearwaldorf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/gifts).



When Rey hugs Finn, all she can think is _Force, I don’t want to let you go._

Every minute that goes by on the Falcon feels like half a century. She can’t look away from him: his broad shoulders, his smile, the way his eyes go soft and warm when he glances back and realizes she’s looking.

“You were the first thing he thought of,” Poe Dameron murmurs, at her elbow, and Rey blinks up at him.

“What?”

“When he woke up in medbay. I found him in the hallway, still in the bacta suit, and you were the first thing he asked about. Where you were, whether you were safe. If you could still find us after the evacuation.”

She’d have been able to find her way back to Finn even without the beacon, she thinks; could reach out and find him anywhere in the galaxy. The light in him, glowing radiant and warm on her skin: it makes her mouth dry with wanting, with the desperate need to press in so close she can’t tell where her body ends and his begins.

They’re crammed in together, sixty-eight Resistance survivors in a ship made to fit fifteen comfortably, and there’s barely a private corner let alone an empty room. Rey swallows down her desire. Curls up under her cloak and tries to rest.

 

The day after they escape from Crait, they hear from Lando Calrissian. Three days after that, they arrive on Iyruta; it’s barren and cold and harshly beautiful, and Rey thinks she would like it if only she could be sure they were actually _safe_.

“I’m leaving the doors open,” Chewie growls mournfully at her as they help the last of the injured off the ship, and Rey nods agreement, wrinkles her nose. Four days of sixty-eight Resistance fighters and, last count, at least the same number of porgs, all living in too-close quarters: the Falcon’s smelt better. Iyruta is all dry wind, the scent of pine and sting of ice in the air. It’s painfully cold, but Rey feels grimy enough she’d be willing to strip down to her skin in open air if only she could find a water source.

“There’s a thermal system inside,” Leia says, just as if she’s reading Rey’s mind—she’s probably exactly reading Rey’s mind, actually—and Rey feels a relief so profound she might actually cry.

She does cry, in the thermal bath: leans her head back against the lip of the pool and closes her eyes and lets it all press in on her just for one moment. Ducks under the water to rinse her hair out as if it might wash everything else away too.

 

There are sixty-eight survivors, and rations enough stored in this old base for all of them. Rey eats mechanically, blinks away tiredness until it fades into an odd sense of energy contained just under her skin. She’s warm and clean, belly full, and then Poe nudges her gently, passes her a flask of something that makes her eyes sting just from the fumes.

“What _is_ that?” she chokes after one mouthful, feeling it burn all the way down. Poe grins.

“Some kind of bootleg liquor Pava discovered. I’m not actually sure it’s meant for human consumption, but it gets the job done.”

It does, Rey thinks five minutes later, it gets the job done; she feels suddenly like there’s a soft haze between her and the rest of the world.

“Finn,” she says, “here, try it,” and watches Finn drink. He sputters a little, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. The way his throat works as he swallows, it makes Rey’s face burn.

“Wow,” he gets out, “that’s sure something,” and when he leans over her to pass it to Connix, he stays in her space, his thigh pressed warm and solid against hers. Rey’s hyper-aware of it, all the places they’re touching: she wants to lean in closer, wants to stroke her fingertips delicately up the inside of his wrist, his cheek, the nape of his neck.

“Rey,” Finn says. Glances at her. Swallows hard.

Their fingers brush.

The air between them is charged, suddenly; Rey doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

“Everyone’s here,” Finn says quietly, and Rey makes eye contact, bites her lip.

“So, the Falcon—”

“Yeah,” Finn agrees, “the Falcon,” and it’s the best thing Rey’s ever heard: everyone’s _here_ so the Falcon is empty; they can be alone. They can—

“Come on,” she says, breathless already at the thought of it. Grabs Finn by the wrist.

 

The Falcon isn’t quite empty: two nests of porgs in the main crew quarters, another huddle of them glaring reproachfully when Rey disturbs them outside her bunk. But apart from that, they’re alone, and it’s quiet; Rey can hardly wait for the door to close and lock behind them before she’s on Finn, clutching at him, fingers digging too-hard into the flesh of his hips.

“Oh, fuck,” she says, and just as she’s realizing she’s never done this before, doesn’t know how to do this, they’re kissing and it doesn’t matter, none of it matters; Finn’s mouth is on hers and it’s everything she’s ever wanted in all those nights alone.

“Rey,” Finn is gasping, “Rey, yes, _Rey_ ,” and Rey bites at his full lower lip, slides her hands up under his tunic so she can run fingers over smooth skin. There’s no scar; she was expecting it, perhaps, but Poe explained the bacta, how Finn had been knit back together where Kylo Ren tried to take him apart.

( _No_ , she thinks, refusing to give Ren space in any of this even in her own thoughts, and perhaps it’s the liquor or the way Finn is touching her but it fades, thank gods; it fades.)

Finn’s breath hitches; there’s no space between them but somehow he manages to press in closer, and then Rey’s back is against the metal wall of her quarters and she uses it as exactly the opportunity to counterbalance her weight just so, wrapping her legs around Finn’s hips and clinging hard, tilting her head back so he can mouth kisses down her throat.

“I thought about this,” Rey tells him, “I tried not to, because I didn’t— _yes_ , fuck—I didn’t know how long it might be, whether you were even—”

“I’m here,” he says, “I’m here, you’re here,” and he’s right, he’s right; he’s here and they’re safe and it makes her desperate for him all over again.

 

They kiss and kiss until Rey’s lips are tingling with it, until she’s beginning to feel their edges blurring in a way that might be the liquor and might be the Force and might just be this thing between the two of them, Finn’s emotions bleeding off until Rey can read them right off his skin.

“Rose kissed you,” Rey says, surprised more than anything else, and Finn blinks and ducks his head and smiles at her, a little embarrassed and a little unsure. Rey smiles back, kisses back, tastes the relief in his mouth. There’s no question of jealousy; she knows true and certain that if Rose loves Finn she’ll love Rose back, just as she can feel she’ll love Poe in time, that all these people will be her family, protected and beloved and ferocious; but this is about Finn, this night is for Finn, Rey has waited and wanted for so long and now they’re here together, nobody dying and nothing exploding and a promise of things to come, and Rey shivers with how Force-damned much she _wants_.

“Are you cold?” Finn asks, and Rey shakes her head, because she isn’t, she isn’t cold, but—

“Do you want to come to bed with me?” she says, brazen, and Finn breathes in sharp, kisses her again with more force, mouth curving into a smile against her lips.

“Yes,” he says, “yes,” and perhaps they pretend it is because they’re cold, how quickly they undress and tumble in under the covers, but _gods_ , the expanse of Finn’s naked skin pressed against her own. It’s like feeling rain on her upturned face. Like seeing green for the first time. Like Finn, coming back for her— _coming back for her—_ and his hand in hers, his smile, his warmth.

“Oh,” she says, “Finn, I need—” _Your hands on me_ , she thinks, _your body—_ and perhaps Finn can feel it, what she wants, because he looks at her, searching, for one moment before stroking his palm up her side, cupping her breast and rubbing a thumb over her nipple. It makes her clench, makes her aware of the desire coiling hot in the pit of her belly, and she reaches for him, wraps her hand around his hard length and squeezes experimentally.

“ _Rey_ ,” Finn says, shocked, eyes wide, and Rey feels him twitch and pulse in her hand. “Force, don’t stop, that feels so— Rey, have you ever…”

“No,” she says. Bites at the curve of his shoulder, wraps one leg up over his hip. “We should.”

“Yeah,” Finn agrees. “Yeah, we should.” Fumbles for a minute under the blankets, and then his hand is between her thighs, his fingers pressing up against her, making her gasp and arch into the touch. “Fuck, you’re so… you’re _wet_ , gods, Rey, you gotta know—”

“That’s,” Rey gets out, “there, Finn, yes,” and then she’s putting her own hand over his, guiding his fingers so she can show him exactly where to touch and how she likes it. She’s minutes away from coming, if that; she can feel it building as he touches her with more confidence, following her lead and pressing his fingers _inside_ , fuck, there are sparks behind her eyelids and she can feel the power singing in her blood.

 

They’re both breathing hard when she comes; the Falcon is still icy with cold Iyrutan air but Rey is sweat-slick and gasping, clinging to Finn so hard her nails are leaving crescents in his skin.

“Yeah?” Finn asks, sounding wrecked, and it’s enough that Rey barely waits a heartbeat before moving impossibly closer, tugging at him so that their hips are aligned. It makes Finn moan, the way she grinds down against him, so she does it again, reaches for him to guide him inside her. “ _Oh_ yes,” he says, “yes, fuck, _fuck_ , I’m not gonna— you feel so good, Rey, I’m not gonna last—” and Rey kisses him all teeth, rolls them over in her narrow bunk so that he can thrust into her.

“So we’ll do it again,” she tells him, “we’ve got all night, come on,” and Finn groans, throws his head back and bites his lip, pushes hard enough and deep enough into her that she cries out, grabs for him, curls her fingers against his. It’s— there are so few of them left, so many dead, Luke gone and their forces scattered, and none of it matters right now because all that matters is they’re _here_ , the two of them in this bed knitting themselves together so tight they’ll never come apart.

“Rey,” Finn gasps, “I can _feel_ you, how, how can I…” and Rey kisses him, breathes in his breath, swallows down the noises he’s making.

“It’s the Force,” she says, knowing it: wrapping it around them like a cloak. “It’s the Force, Finn, it’s the Force in us,” and she can feel how it’s building between them, power like a thundercloud waiting to break. When she comes a second time, it takes her by surprise: sudden and intense, and she tightens around him, feels it tip him over into _too much oh gods Rey that—_ _you—_ before he’s coming too, his face bright and beautiful and everything Rey’s been wanting.

 

They drift, dozing and murmuring nothing noises to each other. Wake and fuck again, slow and syrup-sweet and joyous, and then they talk for hours, tracing each other’s skin and pausing for long and breathless kissing. Finn tells her everywhere he’s been with Rose, all the things he’s done, Canto Bight and the First Order destroyer and his battle with Phasma, and Rey feels his sadness like it’s her own, leans down to press her forehead against his.

“I was glad,” he says, defiant, “it, I’m _glad_ she’s dead, it’s just—”

Yes. Rey knows. She’s not ready, yet, to talk about all that’s happened with Kylo Ren; will need to unfold it slowly over the coming weeks and examine it piece by piece like it’s a wreck she’s scavenging for useful parts. That’s fine. There’s time.

“He said I was nothing to anyone,” she does say, and Finn doesn’t need to say a word for Rey to feel exactly how false that is, to curl into Finn’s arms and think, _I’m not nothing. I’m here._ _I’m loved._

They fall asleep tangled up in each other. When Rey dreams, it’s only of Finn, of wide green places with no ice in the air; she sleeps better than she has in weeks.

“Where were the two of you last night?” Poe asks the next morning, and Rey yawns, passes Finn the plate of rehydrated bread.

“In the Falcon,” she says, and considers Poe’s face, Finn’s hitched breath. “There’s probably room for three.”

There’s hardly room for two, in Rey’s narrow little bunk, but they’ll drag the mattress off the bed, make themselves comfortable on the floor, and when Rose wakes, they’ll make space for four. It’ll be cramped and warm and tender and Rey thinks, fingers intertwined with Finn’s, there’s no better way to live: loving, defiant, in the face of death.

**Author's Note:**

> I am [on tumblr](http://notcaycepollard.tumblr.com/), come join me


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